


Man of his Dreams

by sunflower1343



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 03:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4248390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflower1343/pseuds/sunflower1343
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikhail waits in a cafe, thinking on his past and his future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Man of his Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> I felt like I needed to post some Mikhail this week. ;) He was a mystery character when he was introduced so I wanted to make up a past I could use for him, and also look at his interest in Feilong. This was written after that first chapter where he first appeared, in Sept 2006.
> 
> ~~~~~~~

He remembered running down the hallway, giggling as his mother chased him.

"Misha, we're playing a game. You need to hide here and not come out, no matter what you hear. Do you promise me? Don't come out until your babushka comes for you. Promise?"

He'd promised. 

So he'd sat inside that little window seat, quiet as a mouse, the fun gone from the game as the screams of his mother tore through him. He sat quietly, long after that, days after his grandmother found him, afraid to utter a word. To this day he couldn't stand enclosed places.

It had been the rebels. There was always a war there, always fighting. To him, it came as a shock when he grew up, to learn that there were places that only knew peace. He couldn't imagine such a life.

He knew the ugliest sides of men. And he'd had to become a part of that to survive. His grandmother couldn't control him back then. He'd loved her, but she hadn't understood. The only way to live was to be strongest. 

He'd gathered other stray children around him. Traveling in numbers meant safety. Soon the local crime lord noticed the pack of strays and took them under his wing. Mikhail had received his particular attention because he showed an unprecedented intelligence and capacity for leadership, and so he'd become his protégé and when old enough, his lover.

Mikhail hadn't loved Konstantin, but he'd respected him. The man taught him much, about business and pleasure and life. He'd learned that perhaps being strongest wasn't the answer. Strength was important, yes, but so was intelligence and both needed to be directed towards goals or they were useless. 

He'd been sad the day the older man was gunned down in the streets outside his home. But not so sad that he hadn't immediately stepped in and taken the organization over. He'd decided on his goals and moved decisively towards them. And those higher up had noticed and appreciated that.

Soon Mikhail had passed the small-town group into the hands of subordinates and worked his way up into the larger syndicate. He'd become respected and trusted there as someone who got the job done. And so it came to pass that he was one day sent to Hong Kong, to be a permanent liaison between the Chinese mafia and his superiors.

He'd enjoyed the fast paced life. It was completely different from his hometown, and yet very much the same. Money ruled, as it did everywhere. But here it was all about technology and style, mixed with the ancient. Here he could have every luxury he'd dreamed of.

But here he found one dream he'd never imagined. The one thing he'd not been able to make his. Liu Feilong.

He remembered the first time he'd seen him, the reclusive Liu coming into a restaurant for a meeting of Hong Kong's criminal leaders that even he couldn't afford to miss. Liu had paused at the top of the staircase leading down to the banquet hall floor. He probably hadn't done it for effect, but to check out the room's occupants. Nonetheless, everyone in the place had stopped talking.

Mikhail had at first thought it was a woman, perhaps one of the women belonging to the other men. Not a common whore, but a mistress who knew her worth. But Liu had walked down those steps with a masculine authority that said he owned everyone there, and Mikhail had hardened upon realizing that this was a man.

They'd only been briefly introduced that evening, Feilong's eyes flickering over him dismissively as he tried to make some kind, any kind of impression. He'd failed miserably. So when he'd learned that the casino project was being discussed he jumped at the chance, promising the sun and moon to his bosses if they let him handle it. They knew he achieved his goals. They gave him the job. 

So he'd finally had the chance to meet him. He remembered that moment too. He'd never forget it.

He'd been allowed into Baishe's hallowed halls atop the Hong Kong skyscraper and left to cool his heels to teach him his place. He hadn't minded, had even found it amusing. When the door had finally opened, he stood with his back to it, facing the window, watching in the reflection the retinue of servants and thugs enter, finally making way for Feilong. The shimmering picture on the glass had nearly knocked him to his knees. When he'd turned to face the real thing, something inside him cracked open and he wondered that Feilong didn't lift his lips in a sneer while holding up his robes to avoid stepping in the emotions he'd felt pouring from his chest like fresh blood from a fatal wound.

Instead, Feilong had walked in with the poise of an emperor, long black hair flowing freely down the back of his white cheongsam, as if to provide the phoenixes embroidered upon it a path straight to heaven. He'd wanted to follow that path to redemption with his lips.

But for some reason the thing he remembered most vividly about the meeting was a little thing, the scent that followed Feilong around. It was rich with spices, the brown spices, cinnamon, cardamom, nutmeg, cumin. He thought perhaps his clothes must be packed in cachets of it, yet when he'd let his body brush past Feilong's, he'd caught the scent in his hair.

He'd gone home and bought incense and candles carrying the same perfume, using them in his bedroom at night, especially when he brought home women with long dark hair. There had even been a boy once, one who grew his hair out to such a length. He'd looked at Mikhail far too knowingly for his eighteen years and told him he could call him Feilong, that many men did. Mikhail had sent him home, disgusted that he was so transparent.

He gave himself a mental shake and sipped his coffee, thick and dark. This was the only place in the city that knew how to brew it properly. He examined his hand holding the small demitasse cup. Long fingers, soft skin, manicured nails, no hint of the blood they'd shed over the years. The fingers twitched as he imagined them running over pearl-like skin, grazing across perfect shell-pink nipples. He snorted softly. His fingers weren't the only thing twitching.

He glanced at his watch. Where was the blasted man? He'd gone to a lot of time and expense setting up this meeting.

The maitre d' approached with a silver salver in his hands, a small envelope upon it. He took the offering ruefully, knowing what must be in it, but opened it nonetheless. The scent of cardamom wafted up from the simple yet elegant embossed note card. He couldn't make it, it said, an emergency had come up. He hoped it wasn't an inconvenience. He would have his men contact Mikhail when a more opportune moment arose. 

"He must have found out the meeting was just the two of us," he mused to himself.

Mikhail started to crumple the note, then stopped and laid it upon the table, pressing it flat, staring at the handwritten characters, black ink flowing across white page. Like Feilong's hair across his white silk. He opened his wallet and withdrew cash, at the same time slipping the note into its recesses. 

He was disappointed, certainly. But Feilong's reticence only made him the more attractive. A year ago Feilong wouldn't recognize him. Now he made Feilong nervous enough to skip a dinner arranged for them. He was making progress. One step closer to his goal.

He knew he could kidnap Feilong and take him. A less patient man would have done so. A less civilized man. Mikhail wore his civility lightly, and yet in this matter it bound him. For some reason, it was important that he win Feilong properly. It meant nothing if Feilong didn't give himself willingly. He would woo him, court him, and overcome his objections to reach this one dream that eluded him.

It was only a matter of time. If Mikhail Arbatov knew anything, it was how to get what he wanted. He rose to his feet, smiling, and left the restaurant, already planning his next move as he stepped into the streets of Hong Kong.

 

~end~


End file.
